"Thank You"

I am a terrible person.

I am a terrible person.

I am a terrible person not worthy of being a parent, not even worthy of the simple thought, yet my mind won't let me forget the day when I left my baby boy, my Sherman, all by himself in a box in an alleyway in the rain.

Was he alright? Did he make it? Did he find a home?

Questions badger me day in and out, but I let them. I don't cry. I let the memory continue to haunt me because I deserve it. A parent never leaves their child. They stick with them through thick and thin, always offering the best possible support.

I never even tried to give Sherman my best; the only thing I ever gave him was a name for my own personal and selfish reasons, a name that took me back to carefree and innocent times when hardly a mistake was made and I had nothing to lose. His glasses didn't count, for they had been my mother's idea.

Oh, just give him these and he'll be fine.

Resentment coursing through me, I'd carelessly tossed in a tiny blue blanket, resting a dirty white cloth underneath. I'd written his name out on a piece of paper, barely noticing if my writing was eligible enough. Then I'd left without even turning back, tuning out the echoing cries.

I actually caved in and went back to that alleyway the other day. My heart nearly stopped when I saw that Sherman wasn't there. I had no idea why I was so shocked because months, who knows how many, had already passed. Maybe I had just been expecting the worst.

Still, I never cried. I went back home.

I'm alone, my mother out doing her own thing.

It was probably for the best, because all I could do was stare at the television, nearly choking on my own breath and watching the flickering screen in disbelief. It wasn't the fact that I'd almost forgotten what my little Sherman had looked like.

Mr. Peabody was the one who had found my Sherman.

My disbelief melted away into contentment. He wasn't a terrible person. He wasn't even a person at all. He was more human than I could ever be, and I knew just by the smile plastered on his face and how Sherman giggled and climbed up on his nose that he was going to give my Sherman the best home that he could and would provide.

He would make a great father for his Sherman.

I allow the tears to fall freely at last, ignoring the TV as it suddenly blacked out and reached the end of its pitiful lifespan.

Thank you, Mr. Peabody.